


Hobbies

by espark



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries, Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Historical References, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 15:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8406403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espark/pseuds/espark
Summary: A Murdoch Mysteries and Miss Fisher Murder Mysteries crossover. Miss Fisher travels to Toronto in 1926 for an aviation exhibition. After Miss Fisher discovers a body and James Pendrick is implicated in the murder, Miss Fisher and Detective Murdoch each work to solve the case, each in their own way.





	1. Scene of the crime

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Margaret H Wilison and [Pop Culture Happy Hour’s analysis](http://www.npr.org/sections/monkeysee/2014/09/26/351705779/pop-culture-happy-hour-fall-books-and-great-detectives) of the different types of fictional detectives.
> 
> Amature vs Professional  
> Observer vs Intuiter  
> Traumatized vs Impervious

Toronto, Fall 1926

 

Autumn leaves crunched under James Pendrick’s boots as he crossed in front of the grandstand to greet Phryne Fisher. Although they had only previously corresponded, she knew the dapper elderly gentleman in the flight jacket at once. A coy smile teased the corners of her mouth as she took his hand. The older inventor brushed his lips over the top her her hand, “Miss Fisher! So wonderful to finally meet you face to face.”

The air was crisp and Phryne was wearing a long crimson jacket draped over a cream blouse and matching loose trousers paired with a stunning crimson cap. A glamorous gold scarf highlighted her long neck. “Mr. Pendrick, a pleasure.” She met his gaze, her charm and poise easily a match for his. “What a lovely day for an aviation exhibition. I’m quite looking forward to testing your new plane.”

Pendrick arched his eyebrow with what one could almost call it a wicked look. “Indeed. It should be quite the adventure.” 

Phryne turned to introduce the young, modestly dressed woman beside her, “This is Miss Dorothy Williams, my good friend and companion.” It was hard for Pendrick to imagine these two very different women as close friends. Compared to the peregrine falcon that was Miss Fisher, Miss Williams appeared a sparrow.

Dot Williams shook his hand politely, “Pleased to meet you Mr. Pendrick.” Her voice was as soft as her face.

“The pleasure is all mine. Do you fly as well Miss Williams?” Pendrick asked, although he highly doubted it.

“Oh no, Sir.” The dowdy woman answered bashfully, “I don’t even know how to drive an automobile.”

Phryne winked at her, “Not yet.”

Several raucous boys raced past them to claim seats in the wooden stands overlooking the airfield. Nearly a hundred spectators were already seated. Bags of popcorn and candy apples were being passed back and forth and wool blankets were tucked over laps. 

Phryne returned her attention to Pendrick, “I am eager to see how your new metal-skinned fuselage affect the drag. I’ve never been above five thousand feet.“ Her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Pendrick answered, matching her enthusiasm, “Certainly. That’s the beauty of the new design with the Pendrick Hawk. I’ve provided a steady platform, featured folding wings, and used slots and ailerons for stability. After you’ve a chance to fly in her first hand, you’ll be smitten. You’ll have to buy at least one.”

From around the stands, an older couple approached arm in arm, their affection for each other as clear as the cloudless autumn sky. The man was well-built for his age, perhaps in his early 60’s, and dressed conservatively in black suit. Compared to him, the handsome woman at his side stood out. With her elaborate hair, plumed hat, and sleek green dress, she looked nearly as confident and stylish as Phryne. The middle-aged woman teased in greeting, “James, it looks like your enthusiasm for aircraft innovation is contagious.”

Phryne answered, “If I’m satisfied with how the Pendrick Hawk performs today, my recommendation will spread as easily as syphilis.” The woman in the impressive hat nearly choked on a laugh but the man at her side frowned uncomfortably.

Pendrick made the introductions. “Miss Fisher, Miss Williams, may I present Mr. William Murdoch and his wife, Dr Julia Ogden.” They all shook hands. “Murdoch is a kindred spirit, a fellow inventor.” 

Murdoch looked sheepishly at his old friend, “Inventing is really more of a hobby for me. Pendrick is the one who makes a great success at it.”

Behind them, a loud engine sputtered to life and a monoplane painted in bright yellows and reds, rolled out from a nearby hanger onto the airfield. Pendrick raised his voice to be heard above the noise to Miss Fisher, “I’m afraid we won’t have much time to chat now. Will you join me for luncheon tomorrow at my home?” He turned to include the others, “Julia, William, you’ll come too?”

Phryne accepted readily, “Of course.” 

Murdoch was about to decline when his wife said loudly, “We’d be delighted. Thank you.”

The crowded started to applaud in anticipation. Pendrick shouted to be heard by the older couple, “Please excuse us. Miss Fisher and I should get ready for the demonstration.”

The group waved to make their goodbyes. Pendrick and Miss Fisher strode over to the hanger to don their flight gear while the others found their seats in the stands. The sun was bright overhead, but the air was cool and dry. A faint breeze occasionally stirred small piles of autumn leaves on the ground. With the wave of a checkered flag, the barnstorming exhibition began. The first stunt plane accelerated and dramatically took to the sky. The faces of crowd turned in unison, as if invisible strings were pulling their faces together, up and down, back and forth. The spectators followed the flash of the red and yellow plane against the bright blue sky. A chorus of “Oohs,” and “Aahs,” punctuated the performance as the stunt pilot flew a loop-the-loop followed by a series of death defying rolls and dives. He ended with a daring fly by that made the crowd duck and blew several hats to the ground.

Next, the Pendrick Hawk was announced, “The honorable Miss Fisher of Melbourne Australia, the airspeed record holder for trans-Tasman flight, will attempt to climb more than five thousand feet into the atmosphere. She will be piloting the brand new Pendrick Hawk, and accompanied by the designer of the aircraft, Mr Pendrick.” The crowd applauded and tittered in anticipation.

Miss Fisher blew kisses to the crowd before take off. The monoplane, painted with wings and a beak to resemble a bird, made a few laps above the airfield before charging up to a higher elevation. They climbed high and higher, thousands of feet in the air, until the crowd lost track of the aircraft. Her flight was devised to impress people with her piloting skill, but more, to put the sturdiness of the new plane to the test.

While the crowd waited for Miss Fisher and the Pendrick Hawk to returned from their record breaking climb, a team of black and white biplanes performed an aerial routine. They gracefully dipped and rolled in formation. Their performance finished with bursts of color, as showers of brightly colored confetti drifted down over the crowd. 

Presently, a child stood in the stands and pointed to the horizon. “Something’s coming!” Minutes later, the Pendrick Hawk touched down, the wheels screeching and sending smoke billowing down the runway. The crowd applauded and Phryne and Pendrick took a minute to wave in acknowledgment. Phryne loved the thrill of flying like nothing else. Driving her Hispano-Suiza came close, but the freedom of movement combined with the sheer speed of flying made her feel so much more alive and invincible. She savored the glow and triumph of the flight before guiding the airplane back to the hanger.

Phryne drew down her goggles and pulled off her flight cap. Her short dark hair fell along her cheekbones to elegantly frame her flushed face. It was dark inside, relative to the bright afternoon sunshine outside. As Phryne’s eyes adjusted she could make out a form, lying still on the concrete floor beneath one of the other planes. “Mr. Pendrick! Someone is hurt down there!”

Braking the aircraft to an abrupt stop, Phryne wasted no time. She jumped out of the cockpit and leaped to the floor as agile as a cat. As she rushed to the man lying on the floor she called out, “Get a doctor!” She had to bend down beneath a large propellor to reach the man. She didn’t hesitate and rolled him over. However, it became clear from the bloody gashes across his chest that this man would not benefit from a doctor. The man under the plane was dead.

Phryne carefully laid the man back the way she’d found him, but did not back away. She stayed kneeling, studying the dead man and the scene. 

A moment later, Mr. Murdoch and Dr. Ogden rushed into the hanger, followed closely by Pendrick. The three were breathing heavily, their aging bodies not as quick as they used to be. Pendrick pointed to where Phryne stood beside the stunt plane and the man lying on the floor. “Over there Julia!”

Rushing, Dr. Ogden bent down to turn the man over, just as Miss Fisher had done not a moment before. The group saw the fatal gashes and Dr. Ogden stated the obvious, “William, he’s dead.” Then a moment later the doctor added, “Time of death was within the hour.” 

Murdoch caught his breath, made the sign of the cross, and knelt down next to his wife to examine the body. The airplane hangar was cool and quiet, the sound of the crowd drifting in from the large bay doors. There was a faint smelled of oil and leather. The space had a similar feel as a garage for automobiles, only larger.

Unphased, Phryne finally stood back and commented, “There is quite a bit of blood on the propellers of this plane. Perhaps the man got caught in them somehow?”

Dr. Ogden said, “There appears to be deep gashes in his chest, but there isn’t as much blood as I would expect if that’s what had killed him.” She tilted the dead man’s head, “However there is a deep impact in right the side of the skull here behind the ear, possibly from a hammer or a pipe?” Dr. Ogden carefully let go of the body and stood up. “We’d know more after examination in the morgue.”

Phryne turned her attention to the doctor for a moment, reassessing the handsome woman. The doctor’s powers of observation and keen medical assessment were like her hat, confident and smart.

Murdoch looked around, “James, please call the constabulary and keep people away from the scene.” He asked his old friend.

Pendrick nodded, “Right,” and quickly exited the building.

Not budging from her spot next to the body, Phryne asked, “I wonder what he was doing in here when everyone was outside watching the show.” Her curiosity was obvious and she clearly didn’t consider herself to be ‘people’ who should be kept away from the dead body.

Dr. Odgen wondered aloud, “Perhaps the man worked here? A pilot or a mechanic?”

“No, his hands are too clean.” both Murdoch and Phryne replied at the same time. Their heads shot up and they looked at each other, appraisingly.

Then, as she realized that these people had considerable experience processing dead bodies, she resolved not to be shut out. She quickly bent down and began sorting through the victim’s pockets. Murdoch protested, “Stop! You can’t go rifling through the victim’s clothes. You’ll disturb the evidence.” He reached around to pull her back, but she was too quick.

Phryne held up the man’s wallet in her gloved hands and winked, “I’ll put it back and, luckily, I’m wearing gloves.” She opened the wallet, “Still has money and some cards ... ‘Ernstein and Young, esquires’. I wonder what…”

Murdoch grabbed her wrist and warned, “Put it back now Miss Fisher, or you’ll be arrested for tampering with the evidence.” He locked his eyes on her, calm and commanding.

Phryne met his gaze, unflinching but nodded politely, replaced the contents of the man’s wallet and put it back where she’d plucked it from. “Of course,” and smiled as if she was threatened with arrest all the time. She turned her attention back to the body, taking her time to study it and then the surroundings. 

Murdoch frowned at her persistence as she failed to withdraw, “Will you please wait outside Miss Fisher? I’m sure someone from the constabulary will be by soon to take your and Mr. Pendrick’s statements. Then you’ll be free to go.” He didn’t like her interest in the dead man or her defiant attitude.

Miss Fisher answered confidently, “Certainly, I’m always happy to assist the police.” She pivoted, her long crimson coat twirling around her ankles. She strode slowly out of the hanger, her head held high, her hands held behind her back, her gaze carefully sliding over the large space before leaving the scene of the crime. Murdoch suspected he wouldn't like what she meant by ‘helping the police’ and she’d made it clear her curiosity would not be easily damped.


	2. Taking Statements

Outside the hangar, Phryne found Dot talking with Pendrick. “... actually, Miss Fisher has quite a bit of experience with these sorts of things.” Dot was explaining cheerily. The air was turning cooler as the sun dipped below the mostly bare trees lining the air field.

Phryne asked Pendrick, “Tell me, how are Mr. Murdoch and Dr. Ogden so familiar with police procedure? He was so concerned about preserving the scene of the crime. And she was very comfortable determining the time and cause of death. I thought you said Mr. Murdoch was a fellow inventor?” She studied Pendrick’s face, lined with age but with eyes that sparkled with fierce intelligence. 

Pendrick explained that Murdoch had retired from the constabulary ten years ago to spend more time with his family. Dr. Ogden used to be a coroner - that was how they had met. While Julia still practiced medicine, Murdroch drew a tidy income from various patents. These days, Murdoch split his time between three things - his home and family, Pendrick and their shared inventions, and Station 4 where he used to work. Even though Murdoch was no longer an active duty detective, he was still close with the many of the men in the constabulary and assisted them with cases from time to time.

Pendrick told Phryne, “I’m just glad I have a strong alibi. Being with you, in an airplane, over a thousand feet in the air for the last hour had better keep Murdoch from arresting me.” His tone was teasing, but there was a hint of concern there too.

Phryne exclaimed, “Arrest you, Mr. Pendrick! But why would you say such a thing? Did you know the victim?” This case was getting more and more interesting.

“Not at all," Pendrick answered with a small snort of derision, “but that hasn’t stopped Detective Murdoch before. That man has arrested me half a dozen times for murders I did not commit. It’s as if he can’t resist locking me up.”

Dot seemed alarmed, “But surely …” she stopped unsure how to finish.

“Not to worry young lady," Pendrick reassured her, “Murdoch and I have become good friends and business partners.” The inventor thought a moment, calculating, “He hasn’t arrested me for over twenty three years.”

A well dressed, heavy set man with a ruddy complexion approached them and asked, “Excuse me Mr. Pendrick, might I ask what is going on? I heard something about an accident with one of the airplanes.” He nearly jumped when he saw Miss Fisher, “You again!”

Phryne wasn’t bothered by the man’s affronted tone, “How nice to see you Mr. Wilson. I thought I saw you in the stands earlier.” Then, to Pendrick she explained, “We met at the New York Air show last week.”

Pendrick asked, slightly offended, “Don’t tell me you are considering buying a Faichild aircraft from Mr. Wilson?” 

Phryne reassured him, “Not to worry Mr. Pendrick. Although I admire the Fairchild FC series - light, single-engine, high-wing utility - they don’t suit my purposes.”

Dot explained how Phryne had helped solve a murder at the New York airshow when a spectator was killed. A trapeze artist dangling from a stunt plane had tried to remove a spectator’s hat during a low altitude flyby. But the pilot had flown too low, the woman on the trapeze was injured and the spectator was struck and died from a head injury. Phryne figured out that killer had arranged for his romantic rival to be selected for the stunt and paid the pilot to fly too low.

Pendrick looked at her sideways, “Do you make it a habit of stumbling upon suspicious deaths at airshows?” He was only half joking.

Dot answered brightly, “Actually, she stumbles upon murder victims in all kinds of places, you’d be surprised.”

Mr. Wilson mumbled, “It seems Miss Fisher is almost as renowned an aviatrix as she a detective.”

Dot defended her friend, “Miss Fisher is a very talented pilot. She has quite a hand with aircraft.”

Miss Fisher said, “I like them well built, flexible yet strong, and above all, able to keep up with me.” Her eyes were trained on a pair of young constables, jogging up from the path that lead to the airfield.

After a long pause, Dot piped up, “Her aircraft, that is.”

Mr. Wilson found his voice and flummoxed, “Ah yes, I didn’t realize you were … in the market for … I mean, did you see the newest FC, in the north hanger?” 

Miss Fisher answered, “Oh yes, I couldn’t miss it. It’s the only one with the fully enclosed cockpit, hydraulic landing gear, and blood all over the propellor.”

Mr. Wilson blanched and held his hand up to his open mouth, aghast.

Just then, a fresh faced, middle-aged man with dark sideburns and a gray suit eagerly approached them. He pulled open his jacket to reveal a silver badge pinned to his vest. He politely introduced himself, “I’m detective George Crabtree of the Toronto constabulary. I’m investigating this suspicious death and I’d like you to answer some questions.” He recognized Pendrick and his tone brightened, “Oh hello Mr. Pendrick. How are you today?” 

“Just fine George, assuming you and detective Murdoch won’t arrest me … again.” He said flatly.

Crabtree became embarrassed, “I”m really sorry about that Sir. You know we were only following the evidence. I’m sure you’ll have a good alibi for this one and…”

Pendrick interrupted, “I had good alibis for the other murders too, it never seemed to stop you before.” His tone bordering on irritated.

Miss Williams interrupted, uncharacteristically excited, “Excuse me, did you say you’re George Crabtree? You wouldn’t by any chance be the author of the Mystery Curse series?”

Detective Crabtree beamed with pride, “Why yes. Yes, I am. Have you read them?” Then almost apologetically, “It’s really more of a hobby - writing mysteries stories, that is - I know some folks find novels rather frivolous.”

Dot, took a quick breath, barely containing her delight, “Oh! I but quite enjoyed them. My favorite was the Curse of the Lamentable Leprechaun. The plot twist at the end with the disappearing rainbow was wonderful. Will you be publishing more soon?”

Basking in the praise, Crabtree replied, “Yes, the Curse of the Diabolical Dragon. I’d be happy to send you a signed copy.” Phryne watched the exchange between author and fan, amused.

Crabtree was about to continue along this thread, but caught himself. “But first, I just need to ask some questions.” He eyed Pendrick warily, worried at what his response might be, “You discovered the body?”

“Actually, it was Miss Fisher who first saw the victim.” Pendrick turned to indicated Phryne, “She went to try and help him while I ran for a doctor. I brought Dr. Odgen, but it was too late.” 

Mr. Wilson was alarmed and demanded, “How long will this business take? I’d like to get my Fairchild FC to another exhibition tomorrow.”

Crabtree said, “At least a day, perhaps more. You’ll just have to be patient Mr. …?”

“Wilson. Mr. Ellwood Wilson.” The portly man answered. “And that’s my plane that killed the man.”

Crabtree eyed Wilson suspiciously, “Oh, why do you say that?”

Mr. Wilson stammered, his face flushed, “Ah, this woman, Miss Fisher, she said my FC … the airplane I mean, had blood on it.”

Crabtree said, “I’ll take a statement from you in a moment sir. Please don’t leave until I do.”

Just then a young, sandy-haired constable jogged up to Crabtree. “Pardon me, Detective Crabtree.” His eyes strayed to Miss Fisher.

“What have you Brackenreid?” Detective Crabtree asked.

The young constable turned his attention back to his superior, “Ah … We found a long wrench in the grass behind the hanger. It has blood all over it. It could be we found the murder weapon.” The constable caught the way Phryne’s face lit up at the words ‘murder weapon’ and he added, “Oh, and Detective Murdoch thinks he’s found some footprints.”

“Good work Brackenreid. Be sure to take care with the evidence. Dust the wrench for fingermarks and get impressions of the footprints.” Crabtree instructed.

He turned back to Miss Fisher, “Now, I just have a few questions for you Ma’am.” but Miss Fisher was looking away, her gaze lingering on the constable as he walked away. “Ahem,” the detective coughed and he shifted his weight uncomfortably. Then Phryne looked back at the detective.

Miss Fisher answered Detective Crabtree’s questions and slipped in several of her own. Crabtree happily told her what they’d learned so far - that the victim was named Harold Morton, a clerk at patent attorney firm, Ernstein and Young.

“Just my luck,” Pendrick said sarcastically, “Ernstein and Young is the firm I use for my aircraft patents.” He explained to Phyrne, his face tight.

Mr. Wilson said, “Ernstein and Young do all the aeronautical patents for the entire province, mine included.”

Crabtree was visibly taken aback, “You can’t be serious Mr. Pendrick. You are linked to the victim? Detective Murdoch will want to hear about this.”

Miss Fisher tucked her hand under Pendrick’s arm, and said to him, “Not to worry Mr. Pendrick. Not only will I vouch for you being over a thousand feet in the sky with me at the time of the man’s death, but I will also find out who killed Mr. Morton.”

Crabtree shot Miss Fisher a puzzled look, “I assure you Miss Fisher, the Toronto constabulary is quite competent. We will solve this crime and put the murder to trial. We have an excellent track record for catching murderers.”

“So do I detective,” Miss Fisher pulled two cards out of her beaded handbag and passed one to Crabtree and one to Pendrick. The card read ‘The Hon. Miss Phryne Fisher - Lady Detective.’ She gave the detective an unflappable smile, “So do I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Fairchild aviation](http://www.pilotfriend.com/aircraft%20performance/fairchild.htm) history.
> 
> Also, there really was a spectator killed and trapeze performer injured during an [air show stunt in 1926](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_air_show_accidents_and_incidents#1926%20%20).


	3. Dead Ends

William and Julia arrived at the Pendrick manor for luncheon the next day. James Pendrick had won and lost more than one fortune over the years, but he had been able to hold on to most of the profits from his recent inventions. William was glad to see his friend living in style once more. Although he knew James had forgiven him, he had a hard time forgiving himself at his role in ruining the brilliant inventor, more than once. He pushed the guilt aside and appreciated how the two story Tudor style mansion in Rosedale with its formal gardens, stained glass windows, and broad stone driveway, perfectly represented the his friend’s good taste and success. As a servant took their hats and coats, they could hear two women talking with Pendrick from another room.

Miss Fisher’s voice carried into the hall, “...the firm represents many inventors, not just you and Murdoch, but Mr. Wilson, the Fairchild aviation company, and many others. I would hazard there were many people interested in advanced aviation and engineering who were in attendance at the barnstorming exhibition.”

Miss Williams mused more quietly, “You don’t suppose the dead man, Mr. Morton, could have been trying obtain or sell information to a rival inventor? And what about these finger marks? I’m not familiar with them.”

James said, “Murdoch’s the one who first convinced the constabulary to rely on fingermarks to identify suspects. It was really cutting edge science at the time.” He sighed, remembering when he’d had to submit finger marks the first time he was arrested. His mouth twisted slightly and and he said, “I’ve no doubt mine were the first set of finger marks they compared to those on the weapon.”

William and Julia entered the elegant parlor to see Miss Fisher, Miss Williams and James Pendrick standing comfortably around an invitingly warm fire. Miss Fisher wore a silk navy dress with low scooped neck and elegant oriental earrings framing her face. Miss Williams worn a more modest brown suit. William could see that their attire showed the women were opposites in terms of social standing and wealth, but the casual way they stood near each other betrayed their intimacy and trust. Their relationship was a puzzle and he made a mental note to ask Julia about it later.

“Good to see you William, Julia.” James greeted them, “You remember Miss Fisher and Miss Williams?”

Julia smiled warmly, “Yes, how could one forget? You made quite a … bold impression.”

Miss Fisher took it as a compliment and answered, “Why, thank you.”

Miss Williams couldn’t resist teasing her friend, “One of Miss Fisher’s oldest friends is fond of saying that Impatience is her middle name.”

Miss Fisher gladly gave the punchline, “Virtue was already taken.”

William said seriously, “It is one thing to be strong-willed Miss Fisher, and another to disregard the law. ”

Miss Fisher said confidently, “If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun.”

James cleared his throat and interrupted, “Shall we take our seats for luncheon?” He swept his arm out, indicating the paneled door to the dining room, 

After the group took their seats, Phryne turned to Murdoch, “I hear you used to be a detective in the Toronto constabulary. Do you think it was a crime of passion or premeditation?” She asked.

Uncomfortably, William said, “Miss Fisher, it is still very early in the investigation. I appreciate your curiosity for crime but …

Miss Fisher interjected, “Well, every lady needs a hobby.”

“I doubt murder is a suitable hobby for…”

Miss Fisher addressed Julia, “Doctor, you noticed the victim had fresh scratches on his knuckles and a some contusions on his face indicating there had been a struggle. Also, he was struck in the side of the head with a large wrench. Few people carry wrenches with them, but more likely the tool was simply within reach. That, and the fact that the killer tried to cover up the murder by shoving the deceased at a spinning propeller to make it appear to be an accident, makes me suspect it was not a planned killing. It must have been a fight that escalated, so ... a crime of passion I think.”

Julia nodded, “The evidence does line up that way.”

A servant moved around the table offering white wine and sparkling water. 

William’s mouth tightened, resigning himself to the woman’s train of thought. He had to admit what she was saying made sense, even if she was an amateur. 

Miss Fisher passed on the shrimp salad but accepted some ripe olives, “So, how do you feel about this case Mr. Murdoch? Do you think the crime was about love or money? It is usually one of the two, or both.” She was bound and determined to get the retired detective’s insight on the case. One good tip could solve a case and the more information could gather the better.

William answered, “I don’t feel anything about this case. In an investigation, one must keep an open mind. To jump to conclusions before all the facts are collected and analyzed is rash and irresponsible.”

James said, “Murdoch, like myself, is a man of science, not emotion.” 

William said “Exactly, investigation of crimes relies on the proper collection of evidence and analysis of the facts of the case. Logic and sound science are what will solve the case.” He took a bite of the trout amandine.

Miss Fisher warmed to the topic, “I agree that one must examine the evidence, but evidence can be misleading. Insight and an understanding of the human psyche are more important when solving a mystery.”

William frowned, “Motive is one aspect to a crime, but you must take into account more than just that. A suspect must have means and opportunity as well. If we find a suspect’s fingermarks on the murder weapon, then we look for a connection between the victim and the suspect. The evidence is paramount.”

Miss Fisher set down her fork, “But surely you don’t interview all your witnesses the same way Detective Murdoch. There are times when it takes a gentle approach and others when you must be firm or even intimidating. That takes intuition.” 

William set down his glass of sparkling water and leaned forward, engrossed, “Actually, there are scientific studies on how physical clues during an interview betray a witness's state of mind. A person’s body language can be read and used to adjust one’s approach. Did you know most people look to the left when they are lying?” 

Miss Fisher touched a linen napkin to her mouth and countered, “For the average person, yes. However there are people with different mannerisms and some who are just good liars. Plus there are nuances to body language.” William was about to answer when Miss Fisher continued, “What about the example of a person of interest who acts suspicious? He is gripping his tightly hat too tightly, sweating, swallowing frequently and refusing to make eye contact. Of course his body language reveals that he is nervous. But is he nervous because is being interviewed by a scary policeman, because he has some unsavory vice to hide, like gambling, or is he, in fact, a murderer? You can’t use logic in that situation, it takes human intuition to see past the surface to the subtle emotions beneath.”

William was getting frustrated and not making any inroads with Miss Fisher. The woman was stubborn and clever. He turned to Julia hoping to include her in the debate and recruit her to his side. When he discussed cases, or anything, with his wife, she was encouraging and wise. She was so precious to him and as time passed, he’d come to appreciate her more and more.

But now Julia eyed him over the top of her wine glass and the corners of her mouth quirked up. He could read that look. The restrained laughter in her face made it plain that Julia liked Miss Fisher and her style. His wife was enjoying this verbal sparring match. In his head, he heard Julia saying ‘detective work is as much an art as a science,’ but his wife said nothing now and set her glass back down on the table. In this arena, Julia would let him fight his own battle. His heart filled with renewed affection for his wife, and resignation to Miss Fisher.

William settled on a truce, “Miss Fisher, we must agree to disagree.”


	4. Gathering Evidence

Chapter 4 - Gathering Evidence

Realizing she wasn’t going to get any more information about the crime from Murdoch, Phryne decided to try a different strategy. After bidding farewell to their host, Murdoch, and Dr. Ogden, Phryne asked Dot, “Would you mind if we stopped at a booksellers? If we’re in luck, Detective Crabtree might find some time to autograph a copy of his latest novel for us.”

Dot answered brightly, “Actually, I have a copy of the Curse of the Macabre Mermaid at the hotel.”

“Excellent Dot! You can ask him all about his fiction while I examine his more factual writing.” The two made a stop at their hotel to retrieve the book before proceeding to Station 4.

After they entered the station house, Phryne looked around. The police station was busy. A constable dragged a bedraggled man from one set of doors to another. A phone rang on one office and then another. Garbled shouts came from down a corridor. She took a seat on a bench next to a door that read “Inspector Crabtree,” and nodded at Dot. Dot went up to the desk sergeant and asked primly, “Excuse me. Is Detective Crabtree available? I’d like to speak to him about an important matter.” 

The desk sergeant said, “One moment Miss,” He walked over and knocked on Crabtree’s door. A constable carrying a stack of books crossed in front of her. Phryne shrank down under her black felt hat and looked the other way. The desk sergeant summoned Crabtree and Dot waved to greet him from across the room. 

Phryne waited a moment, then peeked out from under her hat to see Dot enthusiastically talking with Crabtree and holding out a book. She made sure no one was looking and slipped into Crabtree’s office. She inhaled the typical office smells of wood, paper, and ink as well as the faint smell of linseed oil. The furniture was practical and most surfaces were piled with a variety of objects, a globe, some crystal vases, a typewriter, and files everywhere. She had expected to have to open some drawers and riffle through them to dig up information on the case, but she was pleasantly surprised to find many of the details she was looking for written neatly on a blackboard.

She scanned the notes on the board.

Victim: Harold Morton. 27 years old. Protestant. Single, previously engaged to Gertrude Lane. Employed as a clerk for three years at firm of Erstein and Young (patent attorneys). Hobbies included cricket and poker.  
Weapon: 20 inch calibrated wrench, also propellers of Fairchild FC aircraft.  
Scene: Toronto Airfield, inside the north hanger. Footprints outside.  
Witnesses: None  
Coroner’s report:  
Cause of death - massive contusion and hemorrhage in the right temporal lobe.  
Time of death - around 4 o’clock Saturday afternoon.  
Other observations - Multiple scrapes on hands and bruises on face and shoulder indicating a recent struggle. Gashes in chest due to propellor most likely inflicted shortly after death.’

The door creaked and a man asked, “Can I help you with something Miss?” Phryne spun around to face the same sandy-haired constable she seen at the airfield.

The well-built young man came over to her expectantly and Phryne put on her most charming smile, “You’re the officer I saw at the airfield” She looked him up and down, “You were rather impressive, Constable …”

“Brackenreid, ma’am, Bob Brackenreid, at your service.” The man blushed and took a quick breath, flummoxed.

Phryne explained innocently, “I was looking for Detective Crabtree.” Then feigning a glance out the door, “Oh there he is.” She exited the office but paused and turned back to face the constable. She reached into her handbag and handed the attractive man her card, “I’m staying at the Hotel Victoria if you’d like some company later. Perhaps you could show me what entertainment Toronto has to offer?” She left him with a mischievous look and her most seductive smile.

Then Phryne joined Crabtree and Dot in the foyer. “How’s our case going Detective?”

Crabtree answered sincerely, “Oh, I’m sorry Miss Fisher. I can’t discuss details of the investigation with members of the public. I hope you understand.”

Pouting slightly she answered, “Of course. We’ll leave you to it then, Goodbye Detective.” Phryne said.

As they exited the station Dot asked, “Any luck Miss Fisher?”

“Yes. Tomorrow we’ll go out for a game of cricket.”

The next afternoon, Phryne and Dot took a cab to the Toronto Cricket Club for tea. The two had no trouble learning that the victim, Mr. Morton, had been a poor sport and a sore loser. He’d gotten even more bitter once he found out his former fiance, Gertrude, was getting married to someone else. Morton had told everyone that Gertrude had claimed she’d changed her mind about him because he wasn’t Catholic.

Satisfied with the information they’d gathered, Phryne asked Dot if she’d mind getting some exercise. “I haven’t played cricket since I was girl in boarding school. I was the top batsman in my class you know. Our team beat Yorkshire for the championships every year.”

Dot replied, “You go ahead Miss. I’ll watch and enjoy the fresh air.”

At first, the cricket players balked at letting a woman join them at practice. They changed their tune when Miss Fisher bet ten dollars she could out score any of them. Unsurprisingly, Miss Fisher left the cricket grounds a richer woman than when she arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Toronto Cricket Club](http://www.torontocricketclub.com/web/pages/history-of-the-club) was founded in1827 and was successful up until the 1930’s when it began to struggle financially. In 1957 it was integrated into the Toronto Cricket Skating and Curling Club which continues to be a successful family activity group today.


	5. Investigations

The next day over a late breakfast, Phryne laid out her strategy for Dot. “Today we each have an assignment. I have an appointment with Mr Ernstein, the patent attorney. And, I’d like you to visit the various Catholic institutions and inquire about the victim’s former fiance, Gertrude. She reportedly was recently married. Hopefully I can glean some information about the victim from his employer and you can investigate his failed romantic relationship.”

Dot nodded. She’d done this sort of thing for Miss Fisher before, “Yes Miss. If I find out which parish she belongs to, I can attend mass there tomorrow and try to talk to her.” 

Dot took a sip of tea and asked, “What about Mr. Wilson?”

Phryne asked respectfully, “The owner of the FC aircraft? What about him?”

Dot said, “Could he have something to do with the murder? Perhaps he wanted to make Mr. Pendrick get in trouble? They are rivals after all.”

Phryne had come to appreciate her friend’s constant support but at that moment, she suddenly missed Jack and his sharp mind. Talking through cases with him was sometimes amusing, often frustrating, but always helpful. She sighed and pushed thoughts of Jack Robinson away. It would be weeks before she saw him again.

Phryne returned to Dot’s line of questioning, “I highly doubt Mr. Wilson killed Morton. First of all, I noticed him sitting in the middle of the stands at the start of the airshow and when I landed later, he hadn’t moved an inch. Secondly, the man suffers from a bad case of gout. In New York, I was told the poor thing can’t even fly his own planes anymore. There is no way he wrap his hands around the stick his fingers are so crippled with arthritis. That makes it hard for me to believe he would have a fist fight with a young man and be able to strike him with a heavy wrench. Lastly, well, I just don’t think he did it.” Phryne shrugged and then stood up.

Dot have a small nod,blinked and said “Oh.” as if that settled it.

“Come on, Dot.” Phryne grabbed her fox fur wrap and matching hat. “Let’s get to work.“

The two women went their separate ways. Phryne, dressed in a chic royal purple suit, had a cordial and productive meeting with the victim’s employer, Mr. Ernstein. She learned a great deal about the Canadian and United States patent offices. She also learned that Ernstein and Young filed a ‘patent pending’ application immediately upon taking a new client, preventing any rivals from claiming precedence. 

Dot also had success. Claiming she had wedding gift from a mutual friend, Dot found that a recently married woman named Gertrude Cooper attended mass regularly at St. Cecilia’s. 

On Sunday, Dot found Gertrude after services and struck a conversation about the challenges of courting a man who was not Catholic. 

“I’m not sure I could ever marry a man who wasn’t Catholic.” Dot agreed.

“I know. I had a close call, almost a year ago.” The new Mrs. Cooper replied. “I’d gotten engaged to Protestant. He had a decent job in a nice office, but he was too controlling. Even after I broke it off with him, he kept following me around and harassing me. But that business is all done with. I’m married to a good man.” Gertrude tilted her head qualifying her statement, “Well, my husband isn’t what you’d call a spiritual man, but he was baptized at Our Lady of Lourdes. My husband has good job, he’s an airplane mechanic, and he’ll be able to take care of us.” 

Dot was about to ask some more questions when she spotted a familiar older man watching her from the church foyer. It was Mr. Murdoch. Not wanting him to join her with Gertrude, she excused herself, “Pardon me Mrs. Cooper, I see an acquaintance. It was lovely talking with you.” 

Dot left the woman and moved to greet Detective Murdoch, hoping he wouldn’t ask about the woman she was just talking to.

Murdoch greeted her, “Miss Williams, how are you. Is Miss Fisher here too?”

Dot answered, all politeness, “How nice to see you again Detective Murdoch. And no, I’m here on my own. You know, I always try to attend mass, even if traveling. In some ways coming to a new church is spiritually reassuring. I find it so comforting to hear the same hymns and prayers as back home. Of course some of the melodies are a bit different. However, there is something special and spiritual about knowing that all over the world, there are always Catholics reciting the same prayers and singing the same songs.” She hoped to change the subject to a more neutral topic.

“Yes, I can imagine.” He looked back at where she had been talking to Gertrude, but thankfully the woman was gone. “Who were you talking with just now?” Murdoch asked and Dot’s heart sank. He said, “The two of you seemed to have a spirited conversation. Have you friends in Toronto?”

Dot evaded the question, “No, this my first time in the city. We were just discussing our hobbies, volunteering for the diocese, that sort of thing.” She smiled sweetly, “What did you think of the homily. It was captivating, don’t you think?”

From the look on his face, Murdoch must have seen Dot was hiding something. She cringed inwardly. Drat! There wasn’t a person on the planet, Catholic or not, who could have found the priest’s homily captivating. 

Sure enough Murdoch said, “The homily was alright. I take it the sermons in Australia are less … exciting.”

Realizing her mistake, Dot panicked and hastily bid him goodby, ”Oh, look at the time! Well, I must be off. Peace be with you Detective Murdoch.”

Murdoch touched his hat and watched the mousy young woman leave, “And with you Miss Williams.”

When Dot returned to the hotel, she shared what she’d learned with Phryne. “Do you think Gertrude’s husband, Mr. Cooper, could be the killer?”

Phryne listened attentively then answered, “I’m sure of it. Everything fits. We know the victim was a sore loser and bitter about his fiance leaving him for another man. Gertrude said he’d been harassing them. Mr. Cooper works at the airfield as a mechanic. He must have had a confrontation with the victim there. Things got out of hand during the aeronautics exhibition and Cooper killed Morton. But how to prove it? “

Dot asked, “Should we talk to the constabulary about what we found out?”

Phryne humphed, “They have made it quite clear they do not want my involvement or assistance with this case. I promised Mr. Pendrick I would solve the murder and will do just that.”


	6. Solutions

Monday morning at Station 4, Murdoch was standing with Crabtree in front of the blackboard. Even after he had officially retired, he still felt at home in Station 4. The two of them had stood in front of this board countless times mulling over cases. Murdoch still felt the pull of the unanswered questions and it felt good to review information from the case with Crabtree.

Murdoch stated the facts, “First, we’ve deduced the killer’s weight from the depth of the shoe imprints in the grass. He must have been a large man, at least 200 lbs.” He tapped the next note on the blackboard, “From the angle of how the wrench struck the victim’s head, we know the killer was left handed.”

Lastly he said, “And we have an unusual sort of wrench.” He tapped the spot on the board that read, ‘Murder weapon - 20 inch calibrated torque wrench’. 

Crabtree concurred, “Right. This is not a common tool. Sir, I’ve asked Pendrick to help find out what type of equipment this wrench might be used for.” The two sat staring at the blackboard for several minutes. When Murdoch sighed in resignation, “Ah George, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You’ve done a fine job as detective. Don’t mind my meddling.”

“Not at all Sir, I always appreciate your insight and attention to the details. I remember how you’d talk over cases with Dr. Ogden and that always helped sort out …”

Constable Brackenreid interrupted them, “Excuse me sirs.”

Crabtree and Murdoch replied in unison, “What have you Brackenreid?” 

Brackenreid held out the paper. “A message from Mr. Pendrick.” 

Murdoch took it and read, ‘The Brown Aviation tool supply makes these calibrated torque wrenches. They are a very specialized wrench used on Fairchild aircraft engines.’ 

Crabtree looked at Murdoch and nodded, knowing exactly what his former boss would say, “Back to the airfield?”

Murdoch agreed, “Indeed George.” He grabbed his hat and strode out the door. “Come along Brackenreid.”

They drove to the airfield and questioned the manager about those who had access to the Fairchild aircraft. Mr. Wilson, the owner, was a large man, but he didn’t know if he was left handed. There was also an airplane mechanic who fit their description, a Mr. Cooper. To top it off, the mechanic had surprisingly quit his job yesterday. I didn’t take a detective to realize that fleeing the scene of the crime was suspicious. So after obtaining the suspect’s address, the constables rushed to Mr. Cooper’s home in West Toronto. 

Detective Crabtree pounded on the door and shouted, “Toronto constabulary, open up!”

A young woman opened the door and Murdoch recognized her as the person Miss Williams had been talking to at St. Cecilia’s on Sunday. He demanded, “Where is Harold Cooper?” The woman stood up straight and said, “He ain’t here.” 

Crabtree began to search the small apartment and called out, “There are a couple of suitcases here half packed. You thinking of leaving Mrs. Cooper?”

Murdoch’s tone became serious. He threatened, “If you don’t tell us where your husband is, we’ll arrest you as an accessory to murder for withholding information.”

The woman’s shoulders slumped and she looked at the floor, “He’s gone to confront the lady detective, the one who's been snooping around at the cricket club.” 

Murdoch looked at Crabtree and simply said, “Miss Fisher.” Crabtree knew what he meant. Miss Fisher was in danger and they had to get to her right away.

Crabtree turned to the woman, “Where did your husband go? Where is the Lady Detective?”

Mrs. Cooper shook her head, “I swear I don’t know. Harry didn’t say. He left about a half hour ago.” She wrapped her arms about herself stubbornly.

Crabtree swore, “It could take hours to track that Australian woman down. She could be staying anywhere in Toronto…”

From the corridor, Brackenreid spoke up, “Phryne’s staying in a suite at the Victoria hotel, the second floor, room 26.” He blushed and added, “Miss Fisher, I mean.”

Murdoch only said, “Let’s go.”


	7. Conviction

Phryne was in her suite at the Victoria hotel lounging in a black silk kimono. “We know the murder is Jacob Cooper, but how to prove it?” She mused.

Dot took a sip of tea from a delicate china cup, “Didn’t the detectives say something about finger marks? Are those like fingerprints?” she asked.

“Good thinking Dot.” Phryne replied. She reached over to pick up her handbag. She placed it on her lap and pulled out some playing cards with drawings of exotic women on them. “I believe the victim played poker. Perhaps the killer did too? In any case, we can take some pieces of paper he has touched to the constables for analysis.”

Just then, someone knocked at the door. She nodded to Dot who opened the door. 

A large man in a grubby suit and brown cap came in and Dot shut the door. “Miss Fisher?” He asked nervously. “I heard you were a detective and I could use some help.”

Phryne stood up and eyed him suspiciously from across the room, “I am Miss Fisher.” She kept her handbag in her grasp, “What can I for you?”

Suddenly the grubby man pulled a knife from his coat and held it Dot’s neck with his left hand. “You can leave the city now and never come back. Once you’re gone, I’ll let her go,” his voice wavered.

“You must be Jacob Cooper.” Phryne replied, her voice calm, soothing. “Look, we know you didn’t mean to kill Mr. Morton. There was a fight and things got out of hand, right?” She looked at Dot, hoping to reassure her friend. She continued trying to placate him, “It’s alright. I can give you some money, we could help you to escape before the police figure things out?” Phryne reached down inside her handbag...

\-----------------

Murdoch, Crabtree and Brackenreid rushed up the stairs to the second floor of the Victoria Hotel.

As they reached the hallway to room 26, they heard a gunshot. Crabtree kicked open the door to see Miss Fisher, holding a pearl-handled pistol at a large man clutching his left arm next to Miss Williams. “Toronto Constabulary! Nobody move!”

Murdoch looked sternly at the injured man, “Jacob Cooper?”

The large man closed his eyes, blood running down his left arm, his knife dropping to the carpet. Crabtree announced, “You are under arrest for the murder of Harold Morton.” 

Brackenreid wasted no time in restraining the killer.

The man wailed, “It was an accident. He was harassing me and my wife. I didn’t mean to kill him, just rough him up so he’d leave us alone. I swear.”

Brackenreid glanced to Phryne from across the room, “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Quite alright Bobby, thank you.” She smiled at the young constable. “Miss Williams was the one being threatened with a knife.” 

Dot sank into a chair, “I’m fine.” She took a steadying breath.

Crabtree didn’t like how familiar Brackenreid seemed with Miss Fisher and ordered, “Brackenreid, arrest this man. At the station, take his fingermarks and compare them to those on the murder weapon.”

“Yes Sir.” Brackenreid said and hauled the man out.

Dot laughed nervously, “If we’d had a bit more time, Miss Fisher was going to get some of his fingermarks for you.”

Crabtree spoke up, impressed, “Really?”

Phryne answered, “Yes, I never got a chance to tell you, but I’d found several developments in our case.”

Murdoch said dubiously, “Our case?”

Phryne continued, “Yes, after talking with the patent attorney, Mr. Young, I discovered that the patents were an unlikely motive since Ernstein and Young always file applications called …”

“Patent pending” Murdoch supplied, “Yes, I know. I’m a client of theirs.”

Undeterred Phryne said, “Then, Dot and I spent a profitable afternoon at the Toronto Cricket Club where we learned about Mr. Morton’s recent romantic troubles. Finally, Dot met Mrs. Cooper at church where she confirmed our suspicions about the victim bothering her and her new husband. Plus, Mr. Cooper worked as an airplane mechanic.” She shot a proud look at Murdoch, “Good detective work through investigation, initiative and intuition.”

Crabtree protested, “But, Mr. Wilson was also a suspect, he fit the description, was at the scene and presumably had a motive. Miss Fisher, you were just lucky to stumble upon Mr. Cooper’s wife.”

Dot opened her mouth to speak when Murdoch said, “It was not by luck that Miss Williams bumped into Mrs Cooper at St. Cecilia’s. Also, Mr. Wilson was seated directly in front of us during the entire airshow, a fact Miss Fisher could not have missed.”

Dot closed her mouth, no longer needing to make their case.

Crabtree argued in a good-natured way, “Actually, Murdoch and I solved the case, but differently. We used the evidence collected at the scene to deduce the identity of the killer. - a left handed large man working as a mechanic at the airfield . Mr. Cooper was the only person fitting that description. We’d just gone to his home to confront him with his wife told us he’d gone to find you. Your snooping around at the cricket club had gotten back to him.”

Murdoch admonished, “That was a dangerous approach Miss Fisher. In the future, it might be safer if you left solving murders to the authorities.”

Phryne shrugged, “As you can see, I can take care of myself.” She sank back onto her divan and put her pistol back in her handbag. “And I can’t give up my hobby.”


End file.
